


He said it's all in your head, I said so's everything.

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Eating Disorders, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Drugs, but wendy actually has dialogue, most characters except for wendy are mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-01 03:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13286379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Everything moves too fast, including Tweek's brain.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is some bullshit, fuelled purely by feeling sorry for myself right now. Major TW for eating disorders in most chapters except the first, know what you're getting into, okay?  
> Almost entirely inspired by that moment in Put it Down where Tweek mentions everything moves too fast and he just wants some control. Oh Tweek, that's how eating disorders start. I'm kidding, but I'm also not.

Finding out my parents put meth in my coffee for seventeen years was one way to start the day. One paranoid customer, one phone call that should've been ignored, but it was a slow day and boom. An entire life tipped upside down. It explained a lot, to be fair. But my dad pulled me aside, into his bedroom, his voice was as calm as ever with an underlying layer of urgency, and what was he saying? Eyes squeezed shut, focus on the  _words_ - 

"Tweek! Look at me, this is important." 

Look into eyes. Both eyes? Which eye do I choose? I can't just change eyes every five seconds, how about space between eyes? But he said look into eyes, and his mouth was moving so fast-

" _Focus, Goddamnit!_ Just say you did it, okay. Just say you knew and you did it. That's all I need, son." 

I knew. I knew. I knew about what? Am I legal? That's right, the meth. I knew. I did it. I knew and I did it. I did it and I knew. I knew about the meth and I put it in coffee.

"I knew and I did it." 

"That's right son, you did it. You did it because your mother told you to do it. She did it when you were too little." 

My mom? What does she have to do with it?  I knew about the meth. But I didn't. I just found out this morning. 

"What did you say?" 

"I just found out this morning about the meth." 

Ouch. He slapped me. Father's weren't meant to hit their sons, right? Or was I just too hard to control. 

" _Wrong._ One more wrong and I argue that you're insane. You don't want to be insane, do you?" 

I shook my head. I don't want to be insane. I'm not insane. Am I? Craig said I'm not. Craig said they screw with my head. They being my parents. But I screw up my head too. I miss Craig. Where is he. 

"No, I don't want to be insane."

"Good boy. Just do as I say. I love you, son. I'm proud of you." 

He walked away. Where was he going? Probably to talk to police. Why where there police in my house? Oh right. The meth. The meth! I need to tell Craig. 

My hands are too shaky to type. 

I want to go back to sleep. One step at a time, right foot left foot. Right foot left foot. There's a hand on my chest. A burly looking man. His hair is greying. He has brown eyes. Like me, and my mom. My dad has blue eyes. Like Craig. But different. I'm not sure how. The man said something. 

"What?" 

"I said," Oh no. He looks annoyed. He thinks I'm stupid. Maybe I am. "We just need to ask you some questions and then you can go." 

Some questions. Questions are good. He's guiding me somewhere. 

"Some initial questions, Mr-" He paused. "Tweek Tweak? Jesus. Anyway, I need to ask about your involvement in this whole mess. If you had any, of course." 

I did what my dad told me to do. He was watching, watching me. I don't know where my mom is. 

"Thanks, Tweek. We'll need to talk to you later, but for now you're free to go, I guess." 

I need to get out. There are too many people in the living room. The living room is too small, the house is too small. The door. Is it push or pull? I've lived here my whole life and I don't know how to open my front door. No, I must know. Think, Tweek. Push or pull? Push or pull? It's opening. Oh, it was pull. It's snowing outside. The sky is white. I love white skies. There's someone standing in front of me. Craig. Oh,  _Craig_. 

"Tweek? Come on, let's get you out of here. You can go, right?" 

I nod. He sighs, relief? Frustration? No, relief, because he grabs my hand and squeezes. I want to be held by him. Everything's so fast. I'm in his car, he buckles my seat belt. Like a child. The car starts. What if the door breaks and I hurl out onto the road? What if  _I_ open the door and I hurl out? Open the door. Open the door. Open the door. Open the door. 

"Tweek?" 

"I don't want to open the door." 

"Don't do that. Think of your intrusive thoughts as Cartman, remember? What would you say if it was Cartman telling you to open the car door?" 

"I'd tell him to fuck off because he's a racist, fat fuck." 

Push the horn. No, you fat fuck, I don't want to push the horn. Push the horn. 

"Don't push the horn, Tweek. What do we say to Cartman?" 

Was I saying that out loud? How much have I been saying out loud? "Fuck off Cartman." 

We're nearly at Craig's house. Eat a leaf off the ground. No. Don't eat a leaf off the ground. The car door is opening, Craig is unbuckling my seat belt. I hold onto his arms. He's so strong, and  _solid_. He rubs my back and leads me into his house. Did he close the car door? I stretch my head to see. It's closed. He closes the front door to his house behind me. Is the front door locked? I check it. It's locked. He leads me into his bedroom, up some stairs. One step at a time. Throw yourself down the stairs. No, I don't want to throw myself down the stairs. 

Craig is here, you're at Craig's house and you are okay. Craig is leading me onto his bed. I am still in my pyjamas. I'm cold, I think. I think I was cold. From outside. But I'm not cold now, I'm warm. I think I need to sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

Am I awake? Where am I? It's light out, I'm in Craig's bed. He's next to me, watching me. 

"Tweek? You up?" 

Am I? Is this a dream? Dream Tweek can't feel pain right? Ouch. That pinch hurt. I must be awake. Unless I'm remembering how pain felt and my brain is putting it into the dream? Now I've waited too long to answer the question. He's going to think I'm crazy. Is now the right time to answer? 

"Y-yeah. Hey." 

He smiled. That's good. I like making Craig smile. He doesn't do it much for other people. Except Clyde, when he wants Clyde to know that he doesn't hate him as much as he pretends to, and that he appreciates Clyde. He thinks we all don't notice. He's not as mysterious as he wants to be. 

"Hey Tweek. You alright?" 

"What happened?" 

Craig sighs, and sits up. I follow him. My knees gravitate to my chest, and I hug them close. 

"You don't remember?" 

Well, Craig, if I didn't remember I wouldn't ask, now would I? No. Craig just thinks I'm fragile and forgetful. Which, I am. I have forgotten what happened. Something with my dad? He slapped me. Maybe. There was a police uniform. Probably with an officer attached, but I don't like looking at faces much. There was something about meth. Meth in coffee! That was it! Oh god,  _that was it_. 

"-and then my mom woke me up, saying that Liane Cartman told Sharon Marsh who told her that something was up with your house, and that there was an investigation. She got mad at me for going over there, you've been asleep for an hour. She came up to ask why I'd smuggled you away from the investigation." 

Oh right, Craig was talking. He was talking for a while. I shouldn't ask him to repeat himself, should I? 

"Why did you smuggle me away?" 

I didn't mean to say that. It wasn't bad, but I didn't mean to say that. How long has my mouth been running by itself? Is my mouth just constantly working independently from my mind? Am I talking right now?

"Yes, Tweek. You are talking right now." 

Shit. There I did it again. No, Craig's talking, I should listen. 

"I figured your dad would probably try and rope you into saying something to save his own ass, and" Craig looked down self consciously. He's almost never self conscious. "I don't know, I watched enough Law and Order to guess that you should probably have a lawyer present before saying anything to the cops. Do you wanna go back?" 

"No. Thank you, Craig." I snuggled closer to him. He wrapped his arms around me. I didn't like that. I don't know why. I don't know why. I love Craig. I love his arms. I love his body, I love his mind. But his arms wrapping around me made me want to vomit. I pulled away, he looked surprised. 

"I need to pee." 

He relaxed. That's good. I don't want to upset Craig. I got up from the bed. Right foot, left foot. His floor is kind of messy. But it's okay, it's not dirt or gross mess, just untidy. His door. Is it push or pull? It's partially open, thank god. It's push. From this side. It's pull from the other side. Remember that, Tweek, pull when coming in, push when coming out. 

"Tweek? Aren't you going to the bathroom?" 

Shit, how long have I been thinking about the door? Long enough for it to seem weird, surely. 

"Yeah. Sorry." 

"Don't apologise, babe." Craig loves pet names. I love pet names. I love it when Craig calls me pet names. 

The floor is cold in the hall, Craig's room is carpeted but the floor is wooden. It was snowing outside, is it winter? I just passed the bathroom. Turn around Tweek, it's not like you've been here a million times. How many times? Not a million, surely. Bathroom door. The door doesn't have a lock. That's weird, what if someone was taking a dump? Don't just stand in the hall, go inside. The bathroom floor is even colder. Tiled floors. So far, the ranking of coldness has been carpet < wood < tile < snow. I am still barefoot.   
They have a full mirror. I don't like it. Why do I look like I do? No, Craig says I'm beautiful. But he lies sometimes, like when he told Token his new jumper doesn't blend in with his skin tone and make it seem like he's naked. It did. Was he lying to me? 

Oh. I'm shaking. I haven't had coffee today. I haven't had meth filled coffee today. I shouldn't do meth. But I do want coffee. I feel sick. I'm hungry. I'm tired. 

I'm hungry. 

I'm hungry.

That's new. I don't remember feeling hungry before. I just drank coffee. Craig said I needed to eat. I ate around him. Meth is an appetite suppressant. I know that from school. I've never really felt hungry.  Hungry. Hungry is a feeling. Hunger is something I can feel. Huh. 

Craig's knocking at the door. How long have I been in here? 

"Just a second." 

I haven't peed. I didn't need to. 

I opened the door. Craig is smiling. He's a bit taller than me. I like feeling smaller than him. I like feeling like he can protect me. That's weird, I'm not a child. 

He takes my hand. I still feel hungry. We're walking downstairs. Throw yours- I don't want to do that. Stop it. Craig and his mom are talking. She places a cup of coffee in front of me. I mumble a thanks. I don't want to be rude. It's black. Good. She puts some milk and sugar next to me. I push the sugar away quickly. The thought of sugar alone is enough to make me feel sick. A lot of things are enough to make me feel sick. I do feel sick. 

Craig's mom is wiping my head with a damp cloth. Craig is cleaning something up. Craig's mom is soothing me, like my own mom would. Where is my mom? 

"She- your mom and dad are wanted for questioning." 

"What happened?"

"Tweek, sweetie, you threw up. Don't worry, it wasn't much. It's just withdrawals, you're okay." 

I threw up? I was feeling sick. I don't feel sick right now. I don't think. I don't like sugar. Sugar makes me throw up when it's placed next to me. Or was it milk? I'll say it was both to be safe. 

"Craig? It's okay, sweetheart. I'll take over. Take Tweek upstairs, okay? There's a bucket under the bathroom sink if he needs it."

Craig's mom is nice. Craig is putting me to bed, hushing me. Was I talking? He left. To get the bucket, probably. Maybe I imagined the bucket. Maybe I imagined everything and I'm just waking up. I'm still hungry. It feels nice. I sound crazy. 

Craig is back. With a bucket. It's red. A red bucket. I don't like red. It's too harsh. I like blues and greens and greys. I turn over, I don't want to look at anything red. Craig's getting into bed next to me. He's putting his hands on my face. Why are his fingers wet? Oh. No, his fingers aren't the source of the wet, it's my eyes. I'm crying? Why am I crying? 

"Tweek, you're just overwhelmed. It's okay, I've got you." 

Craig has me. His chest is so nice. I lean against it. Oh. Something broke, I'm sobbing. Why am I sobbing? Craig's making hushing sounds. No, they've turned into something. Singing? Craig doesn't sing. He's alright at it, but even though he's out of tune at some points it makes me calmer. I recognise the song he's singing. It's a nice song. It's a sad song. It's a break up song. Is he going to break up with me? No, he's singing it because he knows I love this song. I'm so, so tired. I'm so tired and Craig is singing to me. I shudder, and I think I sleep. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be writing about this ED drawing from the only perspective I know, which is my own, but it's obviously modified and changed to hell because duh. But forgive me if it's not accurate, but also remember every ED is different.   
> The song Craig is singing is "All Your Woman Things" by Smog. It's lovely and sad.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not really happy with this chapter, or the time skips.

I woke up sweating at some time in the middle of the night. I was sad and hungry. Craig's arms were still loosely wrapped around me. I liked it, but my something was urging me to pull his arms off me. 

 _You're not worthy of it, you know?_ Worthy of Craig's arms? What does that even mean? Oh. You're not answering? And now I'm just talking to the voice in my head, who won't even answer me back. 

"Craig?" 

He woke with a start, and softened. "Hey, you need the bucket?" 

I shook my head. "I'm just sweating, a lot. Sorry, it's gross." Craig smiled and shook his head.

"Not gross, babe. I, uh, googled symptoms? Of withdrawals. When you were sleeping." I wasn't used to this. Craig always thinks about what he wants to say before he says it. His verbal filter is a fortress that is impenetrable. Compared to my non-existent one. Seeing him stumble with his words was shocking. I wasn't sure how I felt about it. "I can read them, if you want. Just so you know what to expect." 

"It's okay. Can we have a bath? I feel kind of dirty." He nodded and got up, holding his hand out for me, which I gladly took. I avoided the red bucket as we got out of bed. Red was bad. Red is a bad colour. Red means danger. That's why poisonous animals are red. It's a warning. Poisonous food. If Craig noticed, he didn't say. I was glad. I'm not sure what my answer would've been. 

Craig ran the bath and I sat on the toilet seat. Suddenly my stomach and throat was flooded with anxiety. I didn't want Craig seeing me naked. I didn't want Craig touching me. 

"Tweek? It's okay. We're just having a bath, I didn't take that as a sexual thing-" 

"It's not that! I just." I felt my breathing quicken, and my fingernails were digging into my arms. They were fleshy, with a bit of fat on them. Not much muscle. Not any muscle, really. I ate for Craig and to keep up appearances, and the effects were showing. Disgusting. 

"Deep breaths, babe." He was squatting in front of me. 

"Can. Can I just take a bath by myself?" 

Craig raised his eyebrows in surprise, but agreed. "Of course, I'll be in my room. Call out if you need me." He kissed my cheek and got up. Despite him leaving, my anxiety didn't go away. I realised I only wanted him back even more. 

"Craig!" I choked out. 

He wasn't even down the hallway. "Tweek? What's wrong?" He immediately rushed back, throwing the door open. 

"Can you stay? But. Not look at me. Don't look at me. Or touch me. Can you talk though?" 

"Sure. Yep. Talking, Craig Tucker's strongest point, as you know." 

I stood up and slowly undressed. The bath was nearly full, and warm. I sat in it, watching his back. I slowly submerged my back, going under until the water reached my chin. He was still talking, and he was struggling. It made me fall in love with him even more. I kept submerging myself, the water flowing into my ears. Craig's voice was getting muffled, but still audible. I ducked my head under, water filling my nostrils. I spluttered and sat up quickly, as Craig turned around. I got out and grabbed a towel, wrapping myself in it, making no attempt to dry myself. 

"You done?" I nodded. The towel was large and fluffy. It was grey. Grey was a nice colour. The towel made me feel safe. 

He turned off the tap and pulled the plug, following me out the door. 

"You hungry?" I shook my head. 

 

****

One week. I'd been staying with Craig for one week. I think?  

"It's been three days, babe." 

Craig's here. We're sitting on his couch. Sitting on his couch and watching a movie. When did we get here? I'd been in the bathroom hadn't I. Or sleeping. Have I been sleeping?"

"Was I asleep?" 

Craig looked down at me. "I don't think so? You commented on the movie, like five minutes ago." 

Oh. 

"Craig! Tweek! Dinner!" I heard Craig's mom call from upstairs. 

I hated mealtimes. 

I hated mealtimes. 

I felt hungry constantly, but the thought of eating made me feel so anxious I thought I was gonna vomit. Craig's family were used to me picking at my food, knowing lack of appetite was a side effect of withdrawals. Yes, I had googled it. Craig's not the only one with google. He's trying his best. They all are. That thought makes me want to vomit even more than the thought of the colour red. 

Craig was blue. Blue was steady, calm, happy. Blue was nice. Blue things were nice. Green and grey things were nice too. Any other colours aren't great, but not as bad as red, orange and yellow. 

Craig's mom made red meat. With some salad. Purple lettuce, orange carrots, yellow squash. I was so hungry. I hadn't eaten since- since when? I didn't eat the morning the police came, but I had dinner the night before. So that was four days. Four days. I felt shaky. Craig's family weren't pushing me, but treading so carefully like I was a porcelain doll. I feel their stares, watching me like I'll snap at any moment. I haven't thrown up since that first time, though. I've been close, but nothing. There's nothing in me to vomit up, other than water and meth free coffee.

I sat at the table, my leg shaking. Up and down up and down up and down. I didn't even make an effort today. Everything smelt so strong, it was nauseating. 

I wrapped my middle finger and thumb around my wrist. There was space left over. The storm in my stomach calmed slightly. Craig was looking at me. I put my hands under the table. 

 

****

Return to school was coming up soon, and the police had made no progress with my parent's case, despite it being three weeks. I had been staying at Craig's house. The police hadn't made any effort to contact me. I don't even know where my parents are.  

Craig's family thrived on a routine. One I had tried to get into, but failed. I was confined to the bed or the bathroom most of the time, and watching the family move around me was distressing. I was clearly a burden to them. Craig tried to do things with me, but even watching a movie was hard. I slept a lot. 

Craig went to pick up some clothes from my house, but I had to buy new pyjama pants. The old ones kept falling down. It didn't matter, I mostly wore Craig's clothes. They were larger on me and smelt like him. 

Laura Tucker called the school. She told me to call her Laura, but Craig's mom felt better. She asked me what was okay for her to tell. I can't remember what I said. But the school had agreed that if I was up to it, I could finish senior year. I was already taking modified classes. Dumb. Not dumb, just hard to concentrate sometimes. 

Craig was running his hand through my hair. We were lying in bed. I didn't have the energy to do much more. He shot up in bed, and I looked up at him. He was holding a clump of my hair. 

"Tweek, why did a clump of your hair just fall out? I wasn't even pulling." 

I shrugged. I knew why. I'm not as dumb as I tell myself. I knew it was because all I've eaten in three weeks was four pieces of green lettuce and two green pears. 

"This bullshit needs to stop. I know my parents don't want to overstep their bounds, but this isn't fucking right." 

"What?" 

"One to two weeks, Tweek. That's the withdrawal time. This isn't fucking withdrawals." He looked angry. I wanted to cry. "Why aren't you eating? We all notice it, Tweek." 

"I don't know what you mean." I choked, feeling the tears stinging behind my eyes. 

"Bullshit. All you do is lie in bed, because you can't fucking do anything else! You're not fat, Jesus. You never were." 

"I know," I said, quietly. 

"Well then why are you doing this?" 

"I'll eat, okay. I'll eat. I'm sorry Craig." 

He got up, and sat up. I finally couldn't hold it anymore, and I cried. Craig returned with an apple on a plate, cut into pieces. 

"Not that." 

"What?"

"Not red. Not red. Not red." I repeated, my breathing getting faster. He set the apple pieces down on the bedside table and sat on the bed, wrapping his arms around me. I was sobbing. 

"Hey, hey, Tweek. I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you." He shushed me and my breathing slowed. "What do you want?" 

Nothing. "Blue. Or green. Or grey." He huffed, and squeezed me before releasing me and walking downstairs. I put the plate under the bed. The red bucket was under there. He came back with a sliced cucumber and some grapes. 

"We didn't have any blue food." 

I ate the cucumber one slice at a time, and then the grapes one at a time. He smiled and said I was doing a great job. He said I wasn't fat. He also said Clyde had a shot with Nicole. He also said Jimmy's jokes were funny. He also said Tricia's new haircut looked fine. He also said- 

"Oh, Tweek." I looked down. Bits of cucumber and grape were on my shirt, not even digested, just thoroughly chewed up. 

"I didn't mean to." I mumbled. He stroked my head. Shiny blonde strands lingered on his fingers.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it ain't even about being fat sometimes, craig


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, not really moving the plot along.

Craig tried. Laura tried. Thomas and Trica, in the typical Tucker fashion, avoided the problem. Which was probably the most appreciated approach. My plate was loaded up with green food, blue and grey were hard to come by. I only threw it up if it was too dense. My hair had thinned out a bit, but I've always had thick hair so it wasn't noticeable. I wanted to do better, I really did. I was maintaining.   
I cried a lot. Craig cried a bit, too. He cried about the drugs, saying he should've known. That's bullshit, no one could've known.   
He angry cried, about my parents, that the police aren't doing anything. Laura told me they were still at my home, but hadn't wanted me staying while I was being 'difficult'. I cried about reds, oranges, yellows. The red of my father's cheeks when I said the wrong thing. The oranges of the morning sky when I lie in bed after replacing my meals with coffee, watching Craig's chest rise slowly. The yellow of the logo from the brand of coffee bean the shop uses.   
Craig cried for my chapped lips, limp hair, the times I lay helplessly on the shower tiles, too weak to stand up, watching the water come out and fill my ears, where he broke the bathroom lock because I'd been in there two hours.

He happy cried when I gained weight. I didn't even realise their bathroom had a scale. It was never about that, for me. I happy cried when nothing but stomach acid and bile came up in the toilet bowl, knowing I'd purged every last morsel. 

There were good and bad times, but Craig was a constant throughout. And I've never felt guiltier. 

My mind was clearer, I had some control over my verbal filter, which was previously nonexistent. I knew it was because my body was finally rid of the drugs that had wrecked havoc for my entire life.   
Token, Clyde and Jimmy sometimes came over. Most of the time Craig went out with them. I wasn't going to deprive Craig of a social life. They all invited me, but an outing involving anything but my safe foods as options was enough to push me into a panic attack.   
I didn't like it when they came over. They tried to act normal, but I could see it in their eyes, watching me when they thought I wasn't looking. How I hid behind Craig, latched to him like a dog. Token and Craig often had arguments behind closed doors, angry whispers about where to step in, where to just let it be. Legally, no one but my parents could really do anything. And everyone knew how my parents would handle the situation. 

Some nights I would never go to sleep, and I'd stand in front of the kitchen like a sentinel- both protecting and bracing for battle between my body and mind, a battle where my body tried convincing my steel-willed mind to just  _give in_ , give into its primal desires, reasoning that it'd be better for everybody if I  _just. Ate._    
But, to give my body credit, though it tried its best, my mind was a fort knox that was impenetrable. And if it was impenetrable to its own kin, an outsider like Craig had no chance, though he too tried. 

Other times the sun had dawned into a day that was undoubtedly good, a day where I ate everything given to me and asked for seconds, and on those days everyone loved me as much as they allowed themselves to. But though on those good days I was more convincing, my inner thoughts were ever the same. 

I used to play piano, quite well. I used to sing, before my throat was raw from constant barrages of acids and fingers, and my fingernails were too brittle to stand the gentle knocking of black and white keys- that is, if my fingers were ever fast enough to do more than a gentle waltz. Craig's family had an old, out of tune piano in their basement, but I had only played it once. I was more active in the nights, becoming somewhat nocturnal, despite my consumption of coffee through the daylight hours. Laura didn't allow anyone coffee past 5pm, and I couldn't spit in the face of the Tucker's overwhelming love, support and hospitality. 

It was unhealthy, I was aware (I am aware of more than anyone gives me credit), but I obsess over the difference in size between myself and Craig. How his long fingers wrap themselves around my wrists with too much finger to spare, how he could pick me up if he chose, how I cradled so easily against his chest. He was my protector, even before I started living with him, against my parents, the school, the overwhelming pressure of life itself. He chose that role when it was easy, when I resisted it on a surface level. But is he tired? Even the strongest of soldiers tire, need to take rests. Stone soldiers offer no protection, but flesh and blood is weak in the face of time.   
And even if he has yet to tire  _physically_ , the strain on a willing mind would crumble eventually, let alone the strain on a mind that feels it has to complete the task. 

I hear Laura and Thomas argue about me too, much like Craig and Token. Laura's empathy is greater than Thomas', who offers rational solutions, tossing words like 'inpatient', 'hospitalisation', and 'loony bin' around like they were just that easy.   
Tricia doesn't spend much time in the house anymore. I wish I could do the same. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Craig and I never fucked anymore. It's been two months since I unofficially started living with him. 

I used to have an almost insatiable sexual appetite, when I was on meth. Craig, being a normal teenage boy, never complained. Now I wouldn't have the energy to even do anything, if I even had a libido. I don't know what Craig does about it. Does he jack off in the shower, wishing it was the old me under him? 

Hell, I can't blame him. 

Sometimes he just watches me, slowly shrinking in his old sweatpants. Laura found some from when Craig was twelve that fit me. I've stopped going to school, Laura doesn't push it. Not after I collapsed at the front door, waiting for the bus to pick us up. Thank god Token wasn't driving us that day.   
Laura and Thomas are at a loss, since they're not my official guardians. The case against my parents was pretty much dropped, with little more than a slap on the wrist. I don't even think the police knew they had a son. Only in South Park, I guess.  
On some days Craig doesn't return until long after school has ended. I don't ask him where he's been. He doesn't tell. A few days ago just Clyde came over. He brought some cupcakes, saying something how I used to make them. I didn't tell him I only made them because I needed to keep my hands busy to keep the bugs from crawling out of my skin. He ate two, I didn't eat any. I saved one for Craig, under the bed. It's probably stale by now. Soon the ants will get to it. 

Just turning over in bed is a chore, my bones aching beyond their years. Sometimes Craig is next to me in the bed, doing something on his laptop. Homework, or watching something on the internet. Some nights I prop myself against him and he wraps an arm around me, holding me close as I allow what Netflix show he chose to wash over my glassy eyes. I like those moments best. I like it when his grip tightens on me, but immediately loosens, worried I might break. I probably would break, but never under his hands. And not because of my physical condition. But I would break, regardless, if not for Craig.   
What do I give him in return? Finding me passed out in some strange location, stress pimples forming around his chin and a hunch in his shoulders reserved for those carrying the world on their shoulders. But Craig isn't carrying the world, only me. And Lord knows I don't weigh as much. 

In the early mornings, when the rest of the household is asleep, I watch the frost on the windows as the sun rises. I watch the freshly fallen snow, untouched by no man or animal yet. I watch the birds, I saw mountain bluebirds, sapsuckers and dippers building their nests. Soon they'll lay eggs and their chicks will hatch. They'll spit food into their mouths. When the bathroom door isn't locked after meals, I'll give food to my baby birds, as they chirp in their porcelain nest.   
  
Given the amount of time I spend lying in bed, it would only be natural to wonder if I've crossed my t's and dotted my i's before the summer comes and the baby birds have matured, no longer needing me. Where I'll jump from my own nest, along with everyone else I know, and where they fly I tumble to the ground, watching them soar ever higher. If Craig so much as stops to watch me fall, he'll never catch up with the other birds in time, let alone if he stops to help me. Soon autumn will come and the other birds will be long gone, as a dog, cat or vulture will tear the down feather from my bones. 

If Craig wasn't a fool before, he'd most definitely be one to stick with me while the seasons change. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiny chapter, i'm so sorry! i wanted to make it longer but i also wanted to put something out. consider this a half chapter, again not progressing the plot much.


	6. Chapter 6

I don't want to die. I don't think I do, anyways. I hate to say it, but Craig changed me. I'd love to be able to just cross the path as the kettle whistles and the sun rises, when everyone is still asleep, alone. But as much as it pains me to say, I'm not alone. I'm tethered to another. More accurately, he is tethered to me, I am dead weight on his tired back. 

One morning, another morning watching the birds wake and sing as the gnawing in my stomach keeps me awake, the days flowing and ebbing into one continues sunset and rise, I go for a walk. 

I grabbed Craig's jacket. It's far too big on me. I'm still in his childhood pants, his shirt. I allow myself to drown in the fabric, like a child would hide under blankets. The air is crisp and the ground fresh with snow, but it's not unbearable. I've always run hot, anyways. 

There's a figure ahead, in an orange parka. Anyone with a pulse in this town knows who the orange parka belongs to. I don't really feel like talking, but he sees me before I can turn around. 

In almost an instant he's in front of me, a snow shovel in his un-gloved hands. 

"Tweek? Hi. Wow." 

"Hi Kenny." 

He looks around awkwardly. "Craig said you're having some troubles, with your parents. I-" He stops, biting his lip and looking up, as if he would rather be doing anything else. "I'm sorry. If I know my parents, and sadly I've lived with them my whole life," He laughs humourlessly. "I know where your parents would've gotten it from. And so I'm sorry. I should've known. Or something." 

"You should've known about what?" 

"Don't make me say it, Tweek." 

My parents? They don't want to deal with me. Why would he, or his parents, be in any responsible for them handing me over to the Tucker's like an unwanted present? 

"The meth, Tweek." 

Meth? 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Kenny." 

" _God, Tweek_ -" He looked at me. My fave must've given away my confusion. "okay. Well, Craig said you weren't doing great, but this surely unexpected. Look," 

"Do you think you could get me some cocaine?" There goes my verbal filter, apparently. 

He stops, glaring at me. "Cocaine? No, Tweek! I can take you to a fucking McDonalds, but you're not getting fucking  _cocaine_ off me. Look, tell Craig I said hi. Get better, Tweek." 

He walked away, going to shovel more snow. I wonder what ticked him off so much. Technically he wasn't a drug dealer, but it's a known truth that anyone wanting any sort of substances goes to him. Oh well. He must be in a bad mood. He was talking about meth and his parents, poor kid. 

 

When I get back to the Tucker's, Craig is waiting at the front door. He immediately envelops me in a hug when he sees me. "Oh, Tweek, I thought you'd gone." He says to my hair, hugging me even tighter.   
He finally pulls away and there's tears in his eyes. Laura is at the door too, cautiously keeping her distance. It's just a walk. 

"Do you want breakfast?" She asks, swallowing awkwardly. 

"Why was Kenny talking about meth?" 

She looks taken aback. I can see her natural hair has grown in about an inch. She has black hair, like Craig. Blonde suits her. "Craig?" She asks, looking to him for guidance, like he was the mother instead of her. 

"I haven't told-" 

"He apologised for his parents. And my parents. He was shovelling snow." 

"It's cold, why don't we go inside." She ushers us inside. I don't take Craig's jacket off. 

A single pear is sitting on the table, with a cup of black coffee. I like pears. I sit down at the table and take a bite. 

Thomas is at the table. 

"Tweek," He starts, looking to Laura. "don't think you're not welcome here, but-" This is hard for him. He's shifting his eyes and tapping the table. His fingernails are short and the pads of his fingers make a less satisfying 'thump' rather than 'tap'. 

"We know we have no actual authority, but we think it'd be best." Laura is talking now. "We're not sure how it'd work with insurance, but if you got a social worker-" Her eyebrows are black. Her skin is quite pale, though, and her eyes are blue. Is she Irish? 

"You'd probably qualify, especially considering you're underage. Is this okay with you?" They all look at me. Craig looks like he's about to cry. I don't want him to cry. 

"Please, Tweek-" Craig says. I want to make him happy. I want to see him happy. 

"Alright." 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why am i not able to write <1000 words in one sitting? why am i not able to compile them into a word document and upload a longer chapter? why do i only write this story when i am feeling very very bad?   
> why do i want to reiterate that tweek isn't a self insert here, i just feel bad for him. if i wrote a self insert it'd be from mr garrison's pov probably. mr slave seems like a hot piece of ass and i'd love to self insert to tap that.


	7. Chapter 7

"Tweek? What are you thinking about?" 

It was the night before I was meant to go. Craig was holding me. I wanted him to hold me, even though my brain was screaming for his arms to just get off me. 

"Am I going to die?" 

He squeezed me tighter, clutching me to his chest like a child would a stuffed animal. "You're not going to die, Tweek. You're going to get help. And get better. Then we can grow up and get our own place and live in boring harmony until we die from old age." 

"I don't want to go." My voice was small and my throat raw. He pressed his face into my hair, breathing deeply. 

"I don't want you to go either. I'll visit every possible time I can, okay?" 

How long would I stay there? Would the days melt together like they did normally? Or would I be so painfully aware of every passing second, trapped in the passing of time like every other person. Would there be birds near my window? Would I have a window? What about the mother bird outside Craig's window. I watched her eggs throughout winter. The other baby birds, while I am trapped in an egg, would they fly off to better things? The dawn breaks for them, and they are on the cusp of maturing. Colleges, jobs, while I'm cocooned in a cage of my own making.   
  


That night I dreamt Craig and I were walking through a field. He was ahead of me, and I had my hands placed out beside me, feeling every flower under them along my path. Suddenly, the flowers were hay, and Craig was holding a torch, but he made no signs of burning the hay. He passed to me, telling me he'd follow me wherever I went, no matter how far I travelled from the path set out for us. I dropped the torch and ran. We was beside me. We ran into the sanctuary of a nearby creek, the water twisting and braiding within itself. I watched the fire rise from under the water, like the world had been set ablaze. A salmon swam above me, and a bear's paw came down and snatched it up. When I lifted my head from the water, the great black bear was holding the salmon in his paw, but hadn't eaten it yet. It was toying with the salmon, watching it shake and convulse, begging for the water. The bear gave the salmon to me, and I took great bites out of it raw. Craig watched, horrified, from the burning hay, and the bear stroked my face, breaking the skin.  
  


I woke in Craig's arms. He hadn't yet woken. The sun was only just rising, the light just barely filling the room. 

  
He pleased me even in his sleep. 

In that moment, my heart felt so full of love for him, it threatened to burst out of my very being and consume me. It seemed as if his arms were born to carry me, and my heart was born to hold only everlasting love for him. In the daybreak, he never looked more beautiful. Who tasked him with the task of loving someone like me? Who gave him the burden of being loved by me?   
No matter, in that moment my own insecurities and self hatred was pushed aside, for the time being.   
If I were a million miles from him, he need only to speak my name and I'd uproot myself to appear. My roots were overgrown, anyways. I'd follow him to the edge of the earth, and if he told me to jump off, I'd hesitate only to detach myself from him first. 

 

I want to do well by him. I want to make him proud. I want to be loved by him. 

 

The frost had formed along the edges of the car window, like the deterioration of old photographs. The glass was cool to the touch. Laura drove us, Craig in the back with me. Thomas and Tricia had said quick goodbyes to me, Tricia hugging a little longer than expected and whispering ' _Please don't die_ ' , which was unexpected.   
I didn't want to die, not yet. I wasn't a baby bird, my life wasn't dictated by the changing of seasons, and my nest wasn't located high above the ground. If I took a little longer than others, I wouldn't fall. If summer came and I had not left the nest, that wasn't the end of the world, right? Even if my nest was a large brick building surrounded by a tall gate, and I had to sign myself in. 

 

  
I wonder if my parents signed the documents. They must've, since I had been here a few days already. They'd weighed me, asked about my childhood. They talked to Craig and Laura for a bit, and checked all my belongings. Craig must've packed my bag, I don't even remember accumulating that much when I'd stayed at his.

Turns out I hadn't, really, the only items I recognise as mine were some clothes. The rest of my belongings was an empty notebook, with neat uppercase writing I knew to be Craig's on the first page saying _'I'm counting the days until you're home Until then, write me letters I'll read when you're back in my arms.'_ , some pens, a pressed flower and a small stuffed bunny, with a note from Tricia. The note read, ' _When I had my appendix out, I was in hospital for a week after. I got rabbit from mom while I was there, and she said he helped with healing. I figured you needed him more than me right now, but hopefully not for too long. For both your sake and mine. Tricia._ '   
The bunny was soft and grey, and I stroked his fur like I would a real rabbit.   
I'd seen many rabbits, but I remembered one I saw late one 4th of July, while everyone was celebrating near Stark's Pond. The music was deafening, and I'd gone into the edge of the woods for some peace. It was sunset, and I saw a grey and white rabbit near the ground. She looked so small, and allowed me to get so close to her. I thought it would be so easy to reach out and snap her neck. I could've skinned her, I could've held her there while she struggled, she should've run away. But she looked at me, her black eyes bearing into mine, her nose twitching, and stayed put. It was as if she was saying they were only thoughts, and that she trusted me.   
Soon after Stan had stumbled over to vomit in a bush, and in a flash the bunny was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be a time skip because honestly, fuck writing therapy and inpatient.  
> also i hope the bunny imagery didn't upset anyone, for the record i'm a vegetarian. i actually saw some rabbits for the first time a week or so ago, my state banned them because they're a pest and i'd never seen one. they're lovely.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for over 1k views! every one of your comments and kudos is so lovely.

I was in hospital for a bit under a month. Just enough time for my weight to get just under the healthy weight range, instead of much below. There were a lot of greens, but a lot of the time I still saw red. A lot of the time they gave me drinks instead of meals, because I either wouldn't eat them or couldn't. I spent a lot of time out of my head. There were some people in there who were okay, but really I just waited for Craig's visits.   
Someone I didn't expect to come in was Wendy. Her parents escorted her in, her father keeping a steady hand on her shoulder as if she'd run at the first chance. She'd always been pretty skinny, but she looked bad. She was shocked to see me, and didn't make conversation. She asked to have her schoolwork in with her, saying something about falling behind. She'd often yell in a shrill voice when things didn't go her way. Like when they wouldn't let her have her computer to write college essays or assignments. That day she'd had a breakdown, crying about falling behind and never going to college and whatnot.   
A girl next to me had snickered and said she was textbook. I wasn't sure what to say to that. So I didn't say anything.   
Wendy only stayed a few weeks, after she realised that the longer she stays, the more school she misses out on. She came back twice a week for therapy and weight check ins. She still didn't acknowledge I was there. I didn't acknowledge her, either, just continued writing in my notebook.

My roommate was okay, but he hid food so he smelled a bit bad quite a bit. He'd always shower before bed, though, so it wasn't too bad. He once told me he was on the path of a football scholarship. I didn't respond, so he didn't say anything else. 

When I was released I didn't have anyone to meet me. I was surprised, expecting Craig or Laura, but I figured my parents never pulled through with the insurance or even returning their calls, so they only kept me until I wasn't in immediate danger. At least they called a cab and gave me back my phone.   
I wasn't sure where I wanted the cab to take me, but I eventually decided on my own house. I wasn't even sure if my parents would be in. 

"Oh, Tweek. We didn't expect to see you." My mother answered the door and the cab had already sped off. 

"Can I come in?" She bit her lip and looked around, not meeting my eyes. She called for my father, who was at the door in seconds. 

"Tweek! Son, have a seat." 

It was strange seeing my parents treat me like a guest, but I complied. I put my bag at my feet. "So, son, we didn't expect you back here! You were doing so well at Craig's." I didn't respond.

"The idea was you'd stay with him until you stopped being," He paused, pursing his lips. " _difficult_. But since you're not choosing to talk, I see you've still got some things to sort through." I hadn't meant to not talk, I just didn't have much to say. 

"To be honest, it's been nice having a break." He sipped his coffee. "With the case and all, it's been nice knowing you can always come home to a relaxing house. What we're saying, is maybe it'd be best for everyone if you went upstairs, packed your things and went back to Craig's. Hm?"  
I looked at him, and then to my mother. "It's lucky we're so supportive, son. We could've kicked you out on the street and called you a disgusting faggot. You should be grateful." My father's tone indicated the conversation was most certainly over. I nodded once, and went upstairs. 

My room was coated in a thin layer of dust, untouched since my absence. It was strange to think the last time I'd been in there was the morning of the police. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Wait, scratch that. My drawers had been half closed, clothes spilling over the edges. Craig must've come in here and quickly grabbed more clothes while I was at his place. I sighed, opening my bag and picking some essentials. Underwear, some tops, a couple of pants (Craig's childhood ones had stopped fitting me. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.) and a sweater. I'd grabbed two, pulling one over the long sleeved shirt I was already wearing. I was always a little chilly.   
I looked around, thinking of other things to grab. It was probably going to be one of the last times I was in here, better make it count.   
There wasn't much else I really wanted to take that'd be easy to, so I settled on grabbing the folder of sheet music I had. It was mostly Debussy. 

My parents smiled as I walked out, I wasn't sure how to respond to them. I tried to smile as I walked out the door, but it seemed more like a grimace. They couldn't even see it, anyway. I started walking to Craig's house. It wasn't far, but I was glad I put a sweater on, because it was chilly. 

 

Craig looked surprised as he opened the door, and then enveloped me in a bear hug. I melted in his embrace. "You look so good, Tweek. I'm so happy to see you." His voice cracked a little as he said this, and I heard him swallow thickly.   
"Did they let you go?" I nodded. He pulled away slightly and noticed my bag was larger than it was. "Did  _they_ let you go, too." I nodded again, looking down.   
"Hey, hey. It's okay. It's not even a question if you can stay here, Tweek. I just want to murder those bastards." 

"Yeah, me too." He pulled me inside, grabbing my bag before I could protest. 

"Mom, dad and Trish are out, I don't know when they'll get back." He said, walking up to his room. I followed, naturally. "I'm just so glad to see you, outside of that hospital. You didn't seem real in there, if that makes sense." 

"I didn't feel real in there, really." He turned to look at me after putting my bag on his bed, and smiled.

"Sorry, I'm just," He held my hands. "so glad to see you. See you looking like you again, and not skin and bones mumbling about baby birds." I half smiled, self consciously, looking down. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, you were sick, as all. But you're better now." 

"Better." I repeated, my voice never raising just beyond whispering. I felt like the entire day was a dream, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to wake or not. 

"Do you want to watch Netflix or something?" He asked, guiding me to sit down on the bed. 

"I wrote to you." I said, reaching in my bag and finding the notebook. It hadn't even been half filled, but I truly had written when I could. 

"I don't have to read it, if you don't want me to." 

"I do. It's sorrys, mostly. To everyone. Especially your mom." 

"You don't have to say sorry, Tweek." 

"Read the third page." 

He opened the book to that page, and started reading. I followed along with his eyes. I knew exactly what it said, I'd read it over so many times I could almost read it with him just by watching. 

_Dear Craig._

_I figure if I'll either be getting out of here better or in a body bag, and if it's the latter this is for you. I love you. But I also want you to allow yourself to love others. For too long I've kept you prisoner. So this is me letting you go. Be it now or later, I hope you find a love who can support you as much as you support them._

_Tweek._

He frowned as he finished, turning to me. 

"It still stands true. I don't want to hold you back in any way." 

"Oh, Tweek." He said, his hands cradling my face. "You've been the only thing keeping me going." 

I shifted towards him and he wrapped his arms around me, and I allowed myself to curl against his chest. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like writing Wendy. It's a short chapter because what else do you expect from me.

It was assumed I'd start living with Craig's family. Now that I was 'cured', after all. 

Strange thing, even when weight is restored the mindset stays the same. Gets stronger, even. Now I had the energy due to my recent weight gain, I could do more around the house. Like mope, scream at Craig, and smash plates when food was offered to me. 

The Tucker's stayed thin lipped, but their limits were being reached. A sick part of me wanted to push it, to see how far they'd go for poor little Tweek. See if Craig would still want to fuck me even if I wasn't a fragile bird. 

I was sitting cross-legged on Craig's bed, while he sat on the desk chair, his head in hands. "I just don't see why you're acting like this, Tweek." He said, dejectedly. 

"Am I not  _allowed_ to be angry, Craig? Am I not  _allowed_ to be fucking furious that my parents not only drugged me my entire life, but kicked me out too?" I spat, and he sighed. We'd been going back and forward like this for hours. 

"I just want to understand. You weren't angry like this before, hun." 

"I wasn't angry because I was fasting for so long I barely had the energy to keep breathing,  _Craig_! But now I'm  _cured_ , I have all this energy," I waved my arms in the air dramatically. "to do what ever the  _fuck I want!_ " 

"Tweek, I can't deal with this. I'm going out, okay. I'm gonna go over to Clyde's or something." 

"Sure. When you're gone I'll slit my wrists in the bathtub and write something tragic in my blood." 

" _You can't say shit like that!"_ He yelled, his voice going hoarse almost immediately. I wish I regretted what I said, I think. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I'm not sitting here for it. Let me know when you're teary eyed and begging for my forgiveness, Tweek."   
He stood up, grabbing his phone and walked out. I stared at the door after he left, glaring at it- as if he could even feel it. 

 

Craig came back after about an hour, but he wasn't alone. His guest was surprising, to say the least. Wendy walked in, still looking thin but better than she was. She smiled at me and sat down on the desk chair without hesitation. 

"Tweek, nice to see you here." She said, delicately placing her hands in her lap and tucking some of her black hair behind her ear. I glared at Craig. 

"Why's Wendy here?" 

"Craig wanted us to talk. Since we've been through," She cleared her throat for a moment, "similar things. I think it'd help, as well." 

" _Craig,_ why is Wendy here?" 

"Be nice." He said, sitting on the bed next to me. I rolled my eyes. 

"Stan said he and Craig often saw each other at the hospital. They talked a lot." 

"Really? Because you acted like you didn't know me at the hospital."

Craig, though he was emotionally constipated in expressing his feelings, was excellent at reading people. He took it as his cue to leave, and I was grateful. I could tell Wendy was too, her posture relaxed ever so slightly. 

"I'm sorry. Truly. I was just so," she seemed to search for the right phrase. "-out of my element. One minute I'm in an exam, the next I'm on the floor of the classroom and suddenly I'm in the emergency room, and then I'm in a mental illness ward and,"   
She let the word hang in the air, unfinished.   
"Anyway, I was just so shocked. And to be fair, you did look a whole lot different since the last time I saw you. I wasn't even sure it was you at first." 

"I'm not like you." 

She widened her eyes, just a little bit, and smirked. "No shit, Tweek. I'm the textbook overachiever pushed obsessive restrict-because-you-want-some-control. You're strange though, the colour thing. Don't look at me like that, you wouldn't stop muttering about it the entire time you were there." She leaned in, like she was studying me.   
"Parents put you on meth, the moment you get off you drop about fifty pounds and start talking about birds all the time. I wouldn't know where to put you." 

"How do you know these things?" 

"Clyde saw you, he told Bebe, she told me. But it ends there, promise. You have caused quite a stir, though. Are you going to go back to school?" 

"Are you? You're probably so far behind that you'll have to repeat the year. How're you gonna explain that to all the elite colleges you applied for?"   
She flinched back, pursing her lips. 

"Special consideration. I'm right on track, now. But we can talk about other things?" 

"I'm not in the mood." 

"Come on a walk, then. Get out of the house." 

She grabbed my arm and pulled me off. I allowed myself to be dragged outside, stopping only to get my coat. It was fucking cold, it always was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is this story other than gratuitous sad things bc im sad??????


End file.
